


A Ride to Homecoming

by Anonymous_ID



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs in a Car, Cheerleaders, Consensual Underage Sex, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, School bus, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Unsafe Sex, by car I mean bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_ID/pseuds/Anonymous_ID
Summary: Response to an SPN kink meme prompt: Cheerleader Dean/Football Player Castiel, Sex on a a bus.  On the way back from winning a game Castiel pulls his boyfriend Dean into the the back of the bus for a special ride. (original prompt: https://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/144551.html?thread=46003623#t46003623)This is tagged rape/non-con, underage and consensual underage sex because the characters are high school students, rather than because of any use of force.  They are both willing participants, but better safe than triggered.  I just made up High Plains High School; as far as I know, there isn't one near Lawrence Kansas.  Chapter headings from Don MacLean's "American Pie."





	1. "know that you're in love with him 'cause I saw you dancin' in the gym"

It only happens because Dean is so insanely flexible.     

“You’d be bendy, too, if your teammates were a dozen pipecleaner Barbies,” Dean had pointed out, weeks ago, when Cas hadn’t been able to resist marveling over his surprising suppleness.   To be fair, at the time, Dean had pretty much woven himself around the legs of Cas’s bed in order to re-plug the gaming system.

“I’m telling Jo you said that,” Cas had teased, smirking when Dean had looked up with real panic.  Jo is the captain of the High Plains High School cheerleading squad and she takes cheer _very_ seriously.  

For all his flippant comments, so does Dean. Anyway, it’s true—Dean is so lithe and wiry he can practically kiss his own elbows.  Fortunately, he prefers kissing Castiel. And more than kissing: the game system had come unplugged because Cas had been plowing into Dean hard enough to shift the goddamn bed ten inches across the floor.

Still, they don’t flaunt it at school.  They hang out with the same group, the “athletes,” but pass in the hallways like strangers (Cas lingers in World Religions so he’s sure to run into Dean leaving Auto Shop). High Plains is in the conservative hinterlands of Lawrence, Kansas.  Plus, Castiel is the Panthers’ feature back, so he has a reputation to uphold.  Although, honestly, Dean is more worried about Cas’s reputation. 

That day, with most of Dean under the bed, Cas had reached for the nearest part—wrapped his big hand around Dean’s bare ankle—just to touch him. 

“Come to homecoming with me,” Cas had said, stroking the arch of Dean’s instep to make his toes curl.

And Dean had snorted, not even looking up from the tangle of wires.  “Think your brains got scrambled when you tried to sack Sammy.”  Sam Winchester is Dean’s brother, the Panthers’ quarterback. 

“I’m serious.”

“Shouldn’t let you play defense,” Dean continued, “even for scrimmages.”

Cas had tugged him bodily out from under the bed. 

“I mean it,” he’d curled over Dean’s body, flattening him to the floor, forcing him to consider the question.  Dean had looked up at him, surprised.  They’re about the same height and flinging cheerleaders through the air has given Dean an exquisitely sculpted torso.  But cheerleading is not a contact sport; he’s not used to being manhandled.  But Cas had lay over him, using just enough of his weight that Dean feels small.  Cas had been able to feel Dean’s chest expand with each breath.  Dean had been wearing boxers and one of Cas’s t-shirts.  He smelled like the laundry detergent Cas’s dad bought in huge, on-sale gallons.  His cheeks still glowed faintly with the sex flush that made his freckles stand out. 

“Mmm,” Dean had rutted up, hitching one leg over Cas’s ass.  “Something you wanna tell me, big boy?”

“I’m serious,” Cas had said, trying to ignore the way his dick was thickening in his pajama pants.  When Dean gets all flirty, when he turns on his slutty cheerleader persona, he is hard to resist. He and Dean have never finished a conversation on making their relationship public, usually because Dean side-tracks them with sex.

“So’m I.  I like having you all to myself,” Dean purrs.  “Besides, your dad is so old-fashioned, he honestly thinks we’re up here playing video games.  Why ruin that?”

It had been hard to think of a reason.  Cas is a quiet guy, private.  The kind parents call "a nice kid." He’d enrolled in High Plains his sophomore year, and sometimes he still feels like an alien on a strange new planet.  He’d still be the same awkward home-schooled outcast he was two years ago, if it weren’t for Dean and an uncanny way with a forward pass.  Cas knows he’s got the strength and speed to be quarterback, but he’s uncomfortable in the spotlight. Doesn’t have Sam Winchester’s charisma.  When he did have, that day up in his bedroom, was Dean Winchester under him, moaning into his ear.  

Two months later, Cas has had several more opportunities to appreciate just how easily Dean bends, but he still hasn’t gotten any further convincing Dean to go to homecoming dance.  Of course, first is the homecoming game. Garrison High is their biggest rival.  Their only rival, really: the Panthers are undefeated.  Everyone views this game as a preview for the All-State match, only with higher stakes.  Win this game, and you have the psychological advantage heading into States. Given the way both teams have been playing, offense will be decisive and Cas will be covering a lot of field. No pressure.

Cas isn’t exactly _nervous_.  He just wishes he could spot Dean in the crowd of cheerleaders milling around the front lobby.  He has that jittery first-day-of-school feeling: “I don’t know what that means” had been his mantra sophomore year and Cas winces to think how often he’d said it aloud. There’s a cub reporter from the High Plains school paper who has just finished chatting with Sam and is looking for someone else to interview.  She catches Cas’s eye, starts wending her way through the cluster of marching band members who have set up camp in front of the girls’ locker room.  

“Forgot my mouth guard,” Cas announces to no one in particular. “Back in a second.”  He ducks back into the locker room, barely ahead of the reporter.  He’s fumbling at his locker when he hears the door from the lobby swing open. 

“Hey.” Cas hadn’t even seen Dean outside, but Dean had seen him.  Had known even from a distance that Cas was starting to feel that game-day anxiety that made him feel like a visitor from another world. He leans against a locker, slouching and fuckable in his Panthers uniform.  Dean had been the first male cheerleader at High Plains in decades, and his uniform—track pants and an honest-to-God letter sweater—makes him look so wholesome Cas just wants to eat him up. (Cas has heard Dean had been a very good JV safety, but switched to cheerleading rather than try out for varsity football.  Cas suspects he hadn’t wanted to compete with Sam.) 

“Hey, yourself,” Cas replies and cringes internally.  He is one of the top football player on a season-winning team in a part of rural America where that is highly prized.  Anyone at High Plains would tell you that, if Castiel is not actually God, he’s certainly one of His angels.  But one word from Dean Winchester and he can’t think a cool thought to save his life.

Dean smiles.  Sometimes, Cas thinks Dean likes the awkward, dorky Castiel even more than he likes the All-State football player.

“Got some fine-looking chicks out there,” remarks Dean, sauntering closer.  Comments like that are one reason no one suspects what Cas and Dean having going on.  Dean is totally sincere in his appreciation…he just happens to appreciate Cas _more_.   “Just waitin’ to cheer you on.”  Dean smirks.  “Ben’s not so bad, either.  At least he remembered to tie his shoes.”  Ben is the other male cheerleader at High Plains.  He doesn’t have Dean’s ability to charm anyone, male or female, but Dean’s made it clear that no one teases Ben except Dean himself.

Finally, Dean’s soothing small talk brings him to a stop right in front of Cas.  He seems so slight now that Cas is wearing his pads.  Cas can feel his breath, can see the faint amber flecks in his green, green eyes. He feels calmer already.  

“Play safe out there, okay?”  Dean’s lips brush Cas’s…more than a sentence, not quite a kiss.  It’s so intimate that Cas can feel goosebumps spring up under his compression shirt.

“Always do.”  This is not something to tease about, and Cas understands that.  Dean, who seems absolutely fearless when it comes to throwing and catching other human beings, is actually obsessed with safety.  He carries a first-aid kit that is more complete than anything the coaches have.  He insists on running through tumbling routines until the girls could do them blindfolded.  He makes Sam bring an extra helmet to away games, just in case.

“You’d better,” Dean gives him his patented slutty cheerleader smile.  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Cas licks into Dean’s mouth, deep enough that he can taste Dean growl, hard enough that Dean takes a step back against the lockers.  They’ve never done anything like this at school.  In the backseat of Dean’s old car? Yes.  Up in Cas’s room with the video game volume turned up?  Oh, hell, yes.  But at school Cas barely dared to brush against Dean’s hands walking in the hall.  Now, he wants to lay Dean out on the locker room bench and do filthy things.  “Yeah?”

Distantly, Cas can hear the marching band clattering around.  Jo is shouting something, organizing the cheerleaders. In a minute, they will all board the team buses for the long ride over to Garrison High.  But for now, the game seems a million miles away.  There is nothing but the sweet warmth of Dean Winchester’s mouth. Then Dean rocks up onto his toes and breaks the kiss.  He flutters his eyelashes temptingly. “Win this game, big boy?  And I’ll blow you on the ride home.”  


	2. "the half-time air was sweet perfume"

The Panthers _do_ win the game.  They win by such a huge margin, Cas almost wishes football had a mercy rule just to spare Garrison the embarrassment.  Almost. Every quarter plays out as though the ball is magnetically drawn to Cas’s hands, and when he throws it down the field, Sam Winchester snags it like he is feeling the same magic.  During halftime, Dean and Ben execute a series of tumbling runs so flawless that even Jo is on her feet, shouting with excitement.  The rest of the halftime routine goes perfectly. Cas, watching from the sidelines, can see Dean is actually enjoying himself. It can be hard to tell: Dean always keeps a saucy smile fixed to his face, but he’s concentrating, too.  Those green eyes miss nothing, not a misstep, not an off-count beat.  Cas loves watching Dean on the field—he moves so precisely, so confidently.  Wherever he is, Dean is coordinated and powerful. But somehow, he lets himself go a little with the cheerleading squad.  Let’s himself have _fun_.  The only other time Cas has seen that kind of joyful grace has been when he has Dean in his bed.   

There are no injuries.  There are no confused calls.  The road to States is wide-open. The whole game goes so smoothly and successfully, it is almost supernatural.

Afterwards, even Coach has nothing but compliments.  He pounds Cas on the shoulder.  “A few more games like that, son, and you’ll be beating off those college recruiters with a stick,” he announces.  Cas feels himself blush at the attention.  And then he hears Dean whisper: “Hmm.  Beating off…” He snaps around to see Dean’s flirty grin, but before he can respond, a jubilant Jo grabs Dean’s sweater and hauls him off to a cluster of celebrating cheerleaders.

Cas had been so jittery with pre-game nerves that he’d barely registered the ride over to Garrison.  On the way back, though, the coaching staff relaxes their rules about assigned seats.  Somehow, half the marching band ends up on the football team bus, so Dean and Jo and Sam and Cas end up with a half-dozen other players on the marching band equipment bus.  Jo and Dean, in particular, make quite an entrance.  Somehow, despite the November cold, they have traded part of their uniform.  Jo is wearing Dean’s letter sweater over her kickpleated skirt and Dean has squeezed himself into her shell vest. 

The football players—Sam, Gabriel, most of the defensive line—hoot and holler when they see the uniform swap.

“I was cold!” Jo insists, and Cas is inclined to believe her—November on the Kansas prairie is no joke.  Now that he’s stripped off most of his gear, Cas can feel the chill.

“Settle down back there!”  shouts Bobby Singer, who has been driving the band equipment bus for so long, he’s as much an institution as the drum line.  “Butts in seats or this bus don’t move.  And I want an empty seat between. I won’t have chatter while I’m trying to drive!”

There’s a quick round of musical chairs and Cas ends up in the last seat not occupied by band stuff.  He’s next to Ben, with a base drum wedged into the seat behind.  The seat in front is empty, as Bobby had required, and Jo and her friend Ruby are in front of that.  Dean ends up all the way in the front, next to a kid who plays the Sousaphone in the band.  Cas can see his bare shoulder, Jo’s sleeveless vest tight around the muscle.  Bobby gives them all a suspicious look, then decides they can’t cause too much mayhem, and leaves to consult with the band teacher about a final equipment check.  The equipment bus is always the last to leave.

“Ben,” Dean whisper-calls, and the shy sophomore next to Cas perks up.  Hero-worship is too gentle a word. Ben has even started dressing a little like Dean.  “Switch seats with me.  Ellen’ll have a fit if she sees me in Jo’s top.” Dean is the only person who can get away with calling the cheerleading coach, Ms. Harvelle, by her first name.

Bobby glares at them all when he returns.  “Thought I told you all to stay put.”

“Sorry, Mr. Singer,” Dean pipes up, “I just wanted to congratulate Cas on his game.”  He’s so earnest that even Bobby relents, but grudgingly.  “No one moves while this bus is in motion,” Bobby recites, pointing to the phrase painted above the windshield.

Ms. Harvelle and the band director end up in the seat behind Bobby, and Dean ends up right next to Sam.

High Plains is a public high school in a low-tax area.  The equipment bus is nothing fancy, just a repurposed yellow school bus.  It smells like motor oil, teen sweat, and the worn leather of the drum pads.  But Bobby keeps it running like a dream and the heat kicks in before they reach the highway.  Soon the bus is a dim, overheated cocoon, full of excited whispers as everyone recounts their favorite moments of the best game ever.

Dean leans against Cas. “Lemme have the window seat,” he says, voice low.

“It’ll be cold.  Do you want my jersey?”

Dean rests his head on Cas’s shoulder, looking up with those big green eyes.  “I want the window seat.”

“Uhm, ok, but Bobby just said—”

“Wait for it.”

“Wha…?”

Dean doesn’t answer.  His eyes flick away, to the back of Bobby’s head and, when the driver turns away from the rearview mirror to check the side mirror, Dean straddles Cas and wedges himself in next to the window.  It’s so quick, Cas can hardly comprehend what is happening.   He does notice, though, when Dean is spread across him, that under his uniform track pants, his cock is half-hard.

Suddenly, Cas remembers Dean’s promise in the locker room.  He feels himself blushing in the dark of the overheated bus. 

“Don’t you dare!” Cas hisses. There are two teachers on this bus, not to mention eagle-eyed Bobby.  There are _girls_ in the seat right in front.  Ben is in the seat opposite, staring out the window at the darkened highway, but separated only by the narrow aisle of the bus. 

Bobby is passing under highway lights, which illuminate the bus at regular intervals, then let it sink back into shadow. But Dean is close enough that even the shadow doesn’t obscure the wide-eyed, innocent look on his face.  He licks his lips, bites the bottom one in a way that is not innocent at all. 

The highway lights create a strobe effect.  Dean biting his thumbnail.  Darkness. Dean trailing his fingers down to the low-cut cheerleading top.  Darkness. Dean worrying the felt _P_ that barely covers his chest.

Cas sighs.  He turns resolutely to face the front of the bus.

“Cas?  Caas?”  Dean is leaning in, whispering, close enough that his tongue touches Cas’s ear.  He’s threaded his fingers through Cas’s, tugs him close on the narrow bus seat.

Cas lets himself be pulled closer.  He doesn’t want to give Dean an excuse to speak above the quietest whisper.

“Cassie?”

Cas grunts.  He’s listening.

“Cas…my nipples are getting hard.”

Fuck.  _Fuuuck_.  Dean knows his kryptonite.  Cas’s _loves_ Dean’s nipples, loves how pink and vulnerable and sensitive they look on a chest that is chiseled by all those cheerleading hoists and catches.

Cas closes his eyes.  Teachers.  Bobby.  Girls.  He repeats the litany to himself to steel his resolve.  But then Dean lifts their joined hands and presses Cas’s fingers to the warm V of skin where the cheerleading vest is cut to fit a girl’s breasts.  Dean, of course, doesn’t have breasts, so the fabric gapes a little over his pecs.  Cas doesn’t even have to open his eyes: he knows that solid sternum, drags his fingertips along the thin skin there.   He dips under the fabric.  He can feel his lover’s quick heartbeat and, yes, the tight pucker of his nipple.  Cas slings his arm over Dean’s shoulder, lets his hand slide down his top like a guy trying to cop a feel during a date at the movies.  And just like at the movies, both he and Dean sit staring straight ahead.  Cas is plucking and twisting Dean’s nipple.  Dean’s hips are starting to twitch on the bus’s leatherette upholstery.  His breathing has grown low and rapid.  Twice, he turns his face into Cas’s neck to muffle a whimper, a gasp.

Finally, he nips Cas’s ear. “Please?  I want…”

“Not here.  No room.”

Dean nuzzles just under Cas’s ear.  “I’ll be quiet if you will.  And I’m very flexible.”

He is.  He simply slips into Cas’s lap, twists to face him, and then slithers down to the floor of the bus, right between Cas’s spraddled legs.  Cas glances around the bus, but it seems like everyone else has succumbed to the quiet warmth and the regular hum of the engine.  The teachers are chatting quietly up front, Sam is checking something on his phone, but everyone else is quiet.  Ruby seems to have fallen asleep, her head on the window. Ben has given up and curled down right on the seat. 

Cas had shed his athletic cup when he’d taken off his pads, but he’s still wearing his buckled uniform pants and the elastic supporter underneath.  Dean makes quick work of both.  Cas can feel his long, confident fingers stroking him to full hardness.  It doesn’t take long.  Then Dean drops even lower and ducks under the hem of Cas’s jersey.  Made to stretch over shoulder pads, the jersey has plenty of extra fabric to conceal Dean’s head.  They’ve never done this without Cas being able to watch and it’s strangely erotic to feel Dean’s beautiful mouth, his clever tongue, and yet not be able to see his eyes.  Cas opens his legs wider to give Dean as much room as he can.  Who’s the slutty one now? He’s rewarded when Dean takes him deeper: he feels the pulse of Dean’s throat as he struggles not to cough.  Cas wants to stroke Dean’s hair, but doesn’t dare move the jersey.  He settles for running his fingertips along Dean’s neck, along the edge of Jo’s vest. 

If Ben wakes up.  If Jo gets bored of sitting next to sleeping Ruby.  If Sam thinks of something he wants to tell his brother…  The dozens of ways they could be exposed thrum through Cas’s brain in time with the flashing highway lights and Dean’s gentle suckling.  Cas should care.  He should care about being discovered like this: in the back of a school bus, Dean on his knees, Cas halfway down his throat.  He wants homecoming, wants nice clothes and proper introductions, wants to slow-dance in the gym with Dean’s head on his shoulder and his hand on Dean’s back.  But his balls are starting to throb in Dean’s cupping palm, his hips starting to push up into Dean’s delicious mouth— _slowly, slowly, if he chokes, we’re done for…_   Cas turns his head, sees the flashing highway lights, closes his teeth on the edge of the bus’s textured, sour-tasting upholstery.  Never mind Dean choking; in a minute, Cas is going to come and there is no way he can do it quietly.


	3. "maybe they'd be happy for awhile"

But then the bus is _slowing down_.  And that is…wrong, Cas decides, dizzy with pleasure.  Not just because he needs a few more blissful moments of Dean’s deep-throating, but because Garrison is practically across the county from High Plains.  That’s one reason homecoming is such a big deal: both schools have already beaten all closer rivals.  They should have at least another half-hour on the road.  His hand clamps down on Dean’s nape.  Cas almost whines when Dean’s hot mouth leaves his cock, but then Dean is pulling aside Cas’s oversized jersey and peeking out.  He looks so adorable, with his short hair slightly mussed, that Cas wants to kiss him right there.

“Traffic,” Bobby grumbles to himself, audible in the quiet bus.  Cas can see the lines of red lights curving along the highway.  No ambulance.  He supposes some roadwork crew is trying to make the most of the late evening hour.  How much time is this going to add to their trip? How much longer until Cas can get Dean into the backseat of his Impala and fuck his brains out?

The two teachers have leaned out of the front seat to consult with Bobby and Dean takes the opportunity to unfold himself from the floor.  He slides onto the bus seat next to Cas without ever having stood to his full height.  His lips are prettily swollen when he nips Cas's ear says, “I’m ready.”

Cas glances at him, confused. 

“I.  In the bathroom.  At Garrison.  ‘Cause I thought.  I might…give you a ride home?” Dean’s words are quick and choppy, like he’s too excited to draw a full breath.  _A ride home._ That had been their euphemism when this first started.  Dean would hang around at football practice under the pretense of giving Sam a ride home and then, when Sam invariably ended up going home with Gabe to talk about football, he’d offer Cas a ride home instead.  Sometimes they made it all the way to Cas’s door with their clothing on; often they did not.

Cas feels a groan of desire building and has to stifle it. Fuck.  The thought of Dean slipping away from the post-game excitement, getting _ready_ , _preparing_ himself…

“Here,” Dean whispers, sounding as desperate as Cas feels.  He presses Cas’s hand to the front of his trackpants.  Cas can _feel_ how hard he is, practically leaking. “Do me here.”

Cas wants to, he does, but…

As though he can sense Cas’s hesitation, Dean flutters his lashes.  “I’ll make it worth your while,” he says again, in a whisper that somehow manages to be deep and throaty. Then he leans in, forehead to forehead, the way he does when things are serious.  “If you make me come, right here, on this bus…I will, I will…” he hesitates for a moment, trying to think of some incentive that will persuade Cas.  “I will go with you to homecoming,” he concludes.  A quick kiss, barely there, Bobby would have missed it if he’d been looking.  “You’d better say yes.”

Unlike Cas, Dean isn’t wearing extra layers of clothing.  In fact, there are two taut inches of belly between the top of his track pants and the bottom of his (Jo’s) vest.  Cas shucks off his jersey, moving slowly so as not to startle Jo, drowsing in front of them.  It’s not much of a shield, but at least Ben won’t get an eyeful if he ever wakes up.  Cas has to bite his lip as he works his erect cock free of his athletic supporter and the flies of his tight football pants. The bus is inching along and, fortunately, this stretch of highway falls between lights.  There is the ambient glow of other headlights and the small emergency light at the back of the bus that dyes everything red, but otherwise, the bus is in darkness.  

“C-condom?” to speak without alerting anyone, they have to press their lips right to each other’s ears.

Cas sees Dean’s eyes dart toward the front of the bus.  Of course.  Any condoms are in his gym bag with his first-aid kit. Which is in the front seat. Next to Ms. Harvelle, right where Dean had left it when he’d first gotten on the bus.  For a moment, Cas considers breaking Bobby’s ‘no moving’ rule to get it.  He tries to think of an excuse, some reason that Dean would need his bag _right now_.  But any movement down the center aisle will fracture the sleepy stillness of the bus, waking Ben and Jo and Ruby from their light sleep, distracting Gabe and Sam from their phones. 

“We don’t have to...  I mean, if you’re okay without ‘em…?”  Dean sounds hesitant for the first time.  There’s no real _need_ for condoms—they’re both clean; hell, Dean was Cas’s first—but they’ve always used them.  To change that feels like admitting something.

Cas is sizzling with the adrenaline of the football game and his suppressed orgasm.  He is tired of being the one to say _no_.  He says _yes_ instead, licks it right into Dean’s ear.  Dean turns to look at him—a long, steady gaze lit by the lights on a detour sign as Bobby takes the bus off the highway and onto an exit ramp.  And then, deciding that Cas isn’t going to change his mind, Dean hoists himself into Cas’s lap, as strong and light and flexible as any other Panthers’ cheerleader.

Cas turns his back to Ben, hitching one thigh onto the seat, leaving one leg planted on the bus floor.  Dean's back is pressed up against Cas's chest, bare arms and shoulders hot through the compression shirt Cas wears under his jersey. He hopes their silhouettes won’t be visible against the bass drums and band equipment behind them.  From the front of the bus, it might look like they’ve just fallen asleep mashed up against the window, like Ruby.  From anywhere closer—from Sam’s seat, or Ben’s—there will be no concealing anything.  He and Dean have fooled around in the early evening, after football practice, before parents get home.  He’s never done this in the full dark, navigating only by feel.  But he knows Dean’s body well enough.  He knows how Dean tenses when Cas’s fingers first touch his hole; knows how his breath catches (one quick little hiccup) when he’s first penetrated; knows to stop when he’s got his cockhead in so Dean can ease around the stretch.

Cas leans his forehead against the bare scoop of Dean’s shoulder, biting the fabric of Jo’s vest.  He hadn’t anticipated just how intense this would be without the condom.  And judging from the way Dean’s fingers are digging into his thigh, Dean hadn’t either. 

Finally Dean turns: a flash of his eye, those beautiful lips, words mouthed.  “Okay.  Okay.  More now.”

Cas has maybe three inches of his dick inside Dean’s ass when the bus leaves the highway. The detour route runs along back roads.  Darker, but bumpier.  The first time the bus bumps over a rough patch, Dean gasps out loud—each bump pushes Cas’s cock in deeper. Ben stirs and mumbles, offended by the jouncing.  The band equipment shifts and rattles.  Bobby mutters about the state of roads these days.  No one pays any attention to Cas or Dean.  It's warm and slick and tight; Dean hadn't had time to do much prep at Garrison, but he likes it rough sometimes. The next time they hit a section of rough road, Dean sets his teeth into the arm that Cas is using to brace them against the seat and takes the opportunity to rock back into Cas’s thrusts.  That becomes their pattern.  Smooth, slow thrusts until their hit the concealing noise of badly mended road, at which point Dean works his hips like a lapdancer, trying to take as much of Cas as he can before the bus reaches better pavement and the unpredictable cycle starts again. 

At some point, Cas realizes that he can see Dean’s reflection.  Some quirk of the red emergency lighting in the dark bus interior and the angle at which Dean is cradled has turned a section of the darkened bus window into a mirror.  Cas can see Dean’s eyelids flutter (he knows from the way Dean is clenching that he must be right up against his prostate). He can see Dean’s mouth pulled wide (after the third series of cratered potholes, Cas had fed him a few fingers to keep him quiet).  He’s sure he’d be able to see that sweet flush of pleasure if the light weren’t already red.  He’d meant to warn Dean, but somehow the moment that thought crosses his mind, he’s cumming.  Cas sees Dean’s eyes snap open at the sensation, but then he has to turn and bite the upholstery to keep from moaning.  His mouth finds Dean's arm instead, salty sweat bursting on his tongue. 

With the hand that is not being suckled, Cas strokes Dean’s body.  His bare arm, his belly, the stretch of thigh that is barely hidden under Cas’s carelessly draped jersey.  Dean’s cock is soft and tender.  He doesn’t always get hard when Cas is all the way deep inside him, but his nipples are tight and his hips are twisting in a way that means he likes what he’s feeling.

“Can I…?” Cas asks. He feels Dean nod and suck harder around his fingers. 

So Cas dips between Dean’s thighs, cups his cock, and starts stroking.  He goes slow, stopping to knead that space behind Dean’s balls, feeling gratified when Dean starts to thicken in his palm.  It doesn’t take much time, aroused as Dean is, and the feeling of him spasm around Cas’s softened dick is the best part of the night, better by far than winning a football game.

Cas wipes Dean down with his jersey, shuffles him back into his track pants.  Dean is loose and relaxed and just lets Cas maneuver him.  He does, however, lean over to push the bus window open an inch.  His damp palms leave marks on the glass. The bite of November air on sweaty skin makes him shiver and curl against Cas’s broad chest, but it’s necessary.  Four quarters of football and a calorie-torching halftime show can explain the smell of sweat, but Cas thinks of sex with Dean as having its own particular odor.  He nuzzles against Dean’s temple to savor it before the cold wind blows it away. 

Dean is usually a ball of energy after sex, always up for another round, but tonight he’s practically asleep by the time the bus pulls into the High Plains parking lot.  He unfolds himself into the bus’s aisle, stretching lazily, and Cas stops to watch before descending the steps to the parking lot pauses.  Those long bowlegs, powerful shoulders, the patch of flat belly under Jo’s cheerleading vest.  (Ben is watching, too, just woken himself.  And if he’d woken just ten minutes earlier, Cas thinks, he’d have really had something to watch).

“C’mon, jerk!”  Sam is tall enough to see over the driver’s partition without even climbing all the bus steps.  He cranes his neck to see around Cas and hoists Dean’s ratty backpack.  “I got your stuff, but I’m going to Gabe’s so you’d better unlock the car.”

Cas wonders if all the time Sam spends with Gabe is as innocent as it seems—just two co-captains, strategizing.  Probably is.  He’s doubtlessly just projecting.

“Keep your shirt on, b—brother,”  Dean calls back as he bounces down the bus steps, cleaning up his language at the last minute because Ms. Harvelle is watching.

“Dean Winchester, are you wearing—?”  But before she can finish, Sam interrupts.

“Jesus, Dean—are those _teeth_?”

Dean twists his arm and, sure enough, right there on his bicep, plainly visible in Jo’s sleeveless shell: the faint marks of a bite.

Dean shrugs.  “What can I tell ya, Sammy?  Cheerleading’s a dangerous game…”


End file.
